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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636600">until we run out of mornings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/viverella/pseuds/viverella'>viverella</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(mostly), BokuAka Week, Character Study, Comfort, Confessions, Cooking, Domestic, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, First time saying 'I love you', Firsts, Fluff without Plot, Injury Recovery, M/M, Moving In Together, Prompt Fic, Rain, Recovery, Relationship Study, Sharing Clothes, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touching, Vignette, high school sweethearts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:01:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,429</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636600</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/viverella/pseuds/viverella</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Scattered moments from a lifetime of longing, because falling in love, after all, remains in the little things.</p><p>(a ficlet a day for bokuaka week 2020)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>381</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bokuaka Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. confessions.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>happy bokuaka week! like a total idiot, I completely forgot that this was a Thing until a couple days ago, and because I hate myself, I've decided to do something a little... ambitious is probably the nice way of putting it. basically each day for bkak week, I'm gonna do my best to update this fic with a new chapter matching one of that day's prompts. there's probably going to be some loose continuity between chapters (read: these happen in the same timeline in my head but u can decide whatever u want), but there won't be a ton of plot happening, just a bunch of (mostly) domestic fluff since all I've had floating around my head these days re: bkak are random, plotless snippets, so feel free to just jump through to whichever prompts you like best and I think it'll be mostly fine. probably. honestly I have no idea bc this is way faster than I ever write and I have a feeling this is gonna get away from me and I'll have to go back once this is all over to fix a million things. but. well. </p><p>anyway warnings for what might be minor manga spoilers and abuse of purple prose lmao hope you enjoy!! </p><p> <br/>(title from <a href="https://wnq-writers.tumblr.com/post/150981295520/i-will-love-you-until-the-we-run-out-of-mornings">here</a>. sources for epigraphs linked in text.)</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>or: how to say ‘I love you’ when you speak a language that’s all your own</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>then I realized that we all think we might be terrible people.<br/>
but we only reveal this before asking someone to love us.<br/>
it is a kind of <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/7696143-finally-in-a-low-whisper-he-said-i-think-i">undressing.</a></i>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Later, if you asked him, Akaashi probably wouldn’t be able to say why he did it, why in the middle of rounding up what is now his team and his responsibility, he suddenly drops everything, like one way or another this won’t be the final match of the final volleyball tournament of his high school career, of his life. Later, if you asked him, he’d probably say that it was just a kind of instinct, a gut feeling, a thing that starts at the base of the spine and works its way up. There’s something like a flurry of movement somewhere in Akaashi’s peripheral vision, or maybe the faint strains of a familiar laugh bouncing through the crowded, noisy hallways, and Akaashi’s turning and running before he realizes it, throwing half-hearted excuses over his shoulder like he never does at his vice-captain and the coach. </p>
<p>(<i>I’m sorry, I’m sorry, there’s something I have to do, I’ll be back, I’ll be right back, I promise.</i>)</p>
<p>The air in the gymnasium is stuffy from too many bodies crammed into too tight of a space, filled with people seeking out a spectacle, seeking out glory, seeking respite from disappointment at falling short of lofty goals. Akaashi weaves his way through the crowd, trying to catch the sound of that laugh again, and as he gets jostled this way and that by the people pushing by him to watch the next match, there’s a little part of him that worries that maybe he’s just imagining the whole thing, that maybe he’s just hearing what he wants to hear. But then, all at once, in a rush of relief, Akaashi spots him, up ahead and a little off to the side of one of the many corridors, Bokuto slouching in his jacket like he’s trying to seem small and inconspicuous, his wild hair tucked away under a baseball cap like he’s hiding because he’s just starting his volleyball career but he’s already beginning to get noticed, to be recognized for the kind of player that he is, to have the kind of following that would frequent a place like this. His back is to Akaashi and he’s walking away, but for all of that he’s still easily recognizable all the same, and Akaashi thinks idly as he picks up the pace that he’d maybe recognize Bokuto anywhere, at any time, in any disguise. In a burst of uncharacteristic impulsiveness, Akaashi runs up and reaches out to grab at his sleeve, remembering a little what it feels like to be the kind of person who acts first and thinks later. </p>
<p>(It feels freeing. It feels like home.)</p>
<p>Bokuto’s eyes are wide when he whips his head around, wider still when they land on Akaashi, and Akaashi says, his voice startled like he’s the one being accosted out of nowhere, “Hey.”</p>
<p>In an instant, Bokuto’s expression breaks open into an easy smile, the surprise falling away in favor of his usual effusive warmth like clouds parting, and he says, pleased, “Hey.”</p>
<p>Akaashi opens his mouth to speak, but he’s bumped by someone trying to brush by him and he thinks better of it, grabbing Bokuto by the wrist to pull him away to somewhere quieter, somewhere they can talk without shouting. There’s a narrow hallway off to the side of the huge walkways feeding into the lobby of the building, where the white noise of the crowd fades into a sort of dull buzz. They’re alone, if only momentarily, and Akaashi pauses to catch his breath. </p>
<p>Bokuto laughs, bright noise in the quiet hallway. “You’re all out of breath,” he says, light and teasing. “Were you running after me?”</p>
<p>Akaashi ducks his chin to hide a laugh in a puff of a breath, and he thinks <i>god, yes, always</i>, but what he ends up saying is, “You didn’t tell me you were going to be here.”</p>
<p>He remembers talking to Bokuto just last night, Bokuto wishing him luck in today’s finals, trying to talk Akaashi down from the jumble of nerves he’d twisted himself into, telling Akaashi about the cat that lives in the apartment across the hall from his to take Akaashi’s mind off of everything that’s riding on today’s match, but in all of that Bokuto didn’t once mention that he’d actually be here, two hours and a whole prefecture away from home. Bokuto shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back a little on his heels, looking down at his shoes like he’s maybe a little embarrassed, like maybe he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. </p>
<p>“I was gonna surprise you after,” Bokuto says, shrugging. His eyes flick back up to meet Akaashi’s. “I didn’t want to distract you during your big day.”</p>
<p>Akaashi feels an odd sort of ache wedged somewhere between his ribs. “You didn’t have to come,” he says quietly.</p>
<p>Bokuto’s eyebrows draw together, just a tick. “Where else would I be?” he asks.</p>
<p>Akaashi lets out a breath and shakes his head. “I don’t know, practice maybe?” he says. “I mean, it’s not like this is particularly close to Tokyo. No one has endless time to waste.”</p>
<p>Bokuto laughs again, but it’s softer now, gentler. “Yeah, maybe,” he says, and Akaashi knows the answer is really <i>yeah, definitely</i>, because he’s lost count of the number of times Bokuto has called or texted over the past year to tell him about all the many long hours it takes to be a professional volleyball player. It’s just past noon, and Bokuto would ordinarily be squeezing in a little extra serving practice, maybe, or badgering his team’s setter about working on his cut shot before an intra-team scrimmage in the afternoon, but Bokuto looks relaxed and unbothered as he says, “But I wouldn’t consider this a waste.”</p>
<p>“But,” Akaashi says, and he’s already forgotten why he started down this road in the first place, only that he’s in too deep to not see it through now. “I’m sure you’re busy.”</p>
<p>Bokuto shrugs again, a sort of amused, fond smile gathering at the corners of his eyes. “Akaashi,” he says, soft and sweet around Akaashi’s name, turning it over in his mouth like something precious. “You have enough to think about today without making yourself sick over me.” </p>
<p>Bokuto reaches out to take one of Akaashi’s hands in his, uncurling it from the clenched fist Akaashi didn’t even realize he was making. Bokuto’s palm is warm and familiar against his, grounding in a way that Akaashi realizes all at once, acutely, that he’s missed more than he can really say. He hasn’t seen Bokuto in person since before the new year, before Christmas, before the first snow of winter. There had been a time when the thought of not seeing him for so long was unthinkable, but Akaashi supposes that it’s maybe a year too late to be having that kind of thought. </p>
<p>“Don’t worry,” Bokuto says, squeezing Akaashi’s hand reassuringly. “I think I’m exactly where I need to be today.”</p>
<p>Akaashi draws in a sharp breath, suddenly feeling winded all over again. There’s something stirring behind his ribcage, something Akaashi’s found harder and harder to ignore as time stretches on, this way that for all his boisterousness, Bokuto is somehow the most soothing person Akaashi has ever met, this way that every time they see each other, Akaashi finds himself wanting to reach out, to ask <i>stay a little longer, please, just this once</i>. </p>
<p>Akaashi looks at Bokuto and thinks, <i>I want to kiss him</i> and then stops, like he always does. </p>
<p>Akaashi looks at Bokuto and thinks, <i>I want to kiss him</i> and ends up hugging him instead, arms looped over Bokuto’s shoulders, face pressed into his neck. He’s maybe shaking, a little, and he’s not sure if it’s the usual pre-game jitters or something else altogether, something that sits not in his chest but the pit of his stomach, but he feels Bokuto’s arms around his waist and closes his eyes.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Akaashi murmurs, and he’s not entirely sure what he’s trying to say, but he hopes that Bokuto’s heard it anyways. Bokuto, who’s gotten better than anyone else Akaashi has ever known at teasing out all the little things Akaashi never quite says. Bokuto, who’s never once treated it as a burden. </p>
<p>Akaashi feels Bokuto press his face into Akaashi’s hair, feels the low rumble through his chest as he says, “Yeah, always.”</p>
<p>And there’s something to the way Bokuto says it, some quiet undercurrent to the tone of his voice that makes Akaashi’s heart stutter in his chest, and when he pulls back to look Bokuto in the eye, he finds Bokuto looking at him with an expression that Akaashi can’t name. A kind of tenderness. A kind of promise. Akaashi gets the feeling that they’re not talking about just today anymore.</p>
<p>“Do you mean that?” Akaashi asks, his voice coming out smaller than he really means for it to, but the way his heart’s leapt to his throat won’t let him speak any louder. </p>
<p>Bokuto smiles, warm and earnest, a smile that Akaashi realizes he’s seen a thousand times before and not known what to make of it, a smile that seems like more than a smile, somehow. </p>
<p>“Of course,” Bokuto says, and Akaashi knows that he probably didn’t have to ask, that Bokuto would always have meant it, that silliness and bluster and uninhibited energy aside, Bokuto is the kind of person who takes the promises he makes seriously, who doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. </p>
<p>Akaashi lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh, raises one hand, then hesitates. Bokuto blinks at him expectantly, and he hasn’t let go of Akaashi’s waist, and Akaashi thinks, <i>what have I been holding my breath for, anyways?</i> </p>
<p>(Call it a kind of self-sabotage, maybe. Call it a sort of misplaced instinct for self-preservation. Protection from a threat he knows in his heart of hearts will never come.)</p>
<p>Akaashi reaches up to lift the baseball cap just so off of Bokuto’s head, trying not to laugh at Bokuto’s poor attempt at a disguise, and kisses him. Bokuto’s grip around Akaashi’s waist tightens, just a touch, and he smiles against Akaashi’s mouth like he’s been waiting his whole life for just this, and Akaashi thinks to himself that he probably knows a little of what that feels like, warm down to the tips of his toes. </p>
<p>One kiss would never be enough, but Akaashi tells himself not to be greedy, tells himself that there still remains an <i>after</i>. There’s a faint pink blush sitting high across Bokuto’s cheeks as Akaashi pulls away, and it’s the most beautiful thing Akaashi has ever seen. He feels the wide grin that’s fighting its way to his face and settles the baseball cap back down on Bokuto’s head, heart still hammering in his chest but hands steady. </p>
<p>“Wait for me, okay?” Akaashi says, almost whispers, and he isn’t really sure if he means just today or maybe a few months down the line when Fukuroudani officially becomes something of his past as well. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it doesn’t matter. </p>
<p>Bokuto laughs quietly and presses a light kiss to the corner of Akaashi’s mouth. “Yeah,” he says. “Always.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I realized after I started writing this that I actually almost never quite write <i>confession</i> confessions, but hopefully this is close enough lmao</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. moving in.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>or: sharing space as a love language</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>I made this place for you. A place for you to love me.<br/>
If this isn’t a <a href="http://poeticfuck.blogspot.com/2008/06/siken-snow-and-dirty-rain.html">kingdom</a> then I don’t know what is.</i>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<p>Moving, Akaashi thinks, will probably never not be a pain, but deciding to move in with Bokuto is easy. Akaashi asks Bokuto one day in late March if he knows of anyone looking for a roommate because he’ll need a place to live that’s closer to downtown once he starts college, and Bokuto just looks at him and says, “Live with me. I’m looking for a new apartment anyways.”</p>
<p>He says it like it could really be such a simple decision to make, like it couldn’t have been any other way, and later Akaashi realizes that he didn’t even really consider anything else, that the moment Bokuto said it, it seemed obvious. Easy, like so many things about being with Bokuto are. Easy, like the laughter Bokuto always teases out of him. </p>
<p>“Okay,” Akaashi says, chest full, “Okay, yeah.”</p>
<p>And so, in April, the week before Akaashi is due to start college, they enlist Konoha and Sarukui for help bringing all their many odds and ends into the first place Akaashi has ever thought of as <i>ours</i>, and Bokuto insists on first carrying Akaashi up three flights of stairs and across the threshold of their apartment bridal style, laughing as Akaashi’s ears go pink and he ducks his chin to hide his face in Bokuto’s shoulder and makes half-hearted complaints to be put down. </p>
<p>“Welcome to our new home!” Bokuto cheers as he kicks the door open, bright and excited. </p>
<p>Their new apartment is small but cozy, with big windows in the living room to let in natural light, and Akaashi remembers seeing it for the first time and wondering how golden the room gets in the late afternoons with the curtains thrown wide open, wondering what the light would look like catching on the wild strands of Bokuto’s hair and settling into the warm amber of his eyes. Akaashi imagines sitting out on the tiny balcony with a good book when the weather gets warmer, imagines spending evenings curled up on a couch they still need to get, watching a movie on his laptop or just talking over tea. Akaashi hasn’t even properly lived here yet, all his belongings packed up in big boxes dumped unceremoniously in the middle of the room, but he finds that Bokuto’s right, that it’s easy to imagine calling this place home, somehow. </p>
<p>(Maybe it’s just the company he keeps, Akaashi thinks. Maybe it would always have felt like this.)</p>
<p>“You know,” Konoha says, dropping a box labeled <i>sweaters</i> on the floor by the slowly growing pile. He raises his eyebrows at the two of them, hands on hips, and continues, “When I agreed to help you move into your new apartment, I assumed you were actually going to carry some stuff up yourself. You know, other than your boyfriend.”</p>
<p>Bokuto grins, unbothered, and Akaashi feels his ears grow a bit warmer. </p>
<p>“Put me down,” Akaashi says around the end of a laugh he hasn’t quite let sneak out, and he’s lost count of the number of times he’s said it in the past handful of minutes, but this time, Bokuto listens, like he knows Akaashi means it just a little bit more. </p>
<p>“<i>Fine</i>,” Bokuto sighs and pretends to pout. “You win. Happy?”</p>
<p>Akaashi smiles as Bokuto eases him down, hand lingering at the small of Akaashi’s back just a moment longer, steadying. </p>
<p>“Thank you,” Akaashi says, and then tips himself up to press a soft kiss to the corner of Bokuto’s mouth for good measure. </p>
<p>Konoha rolls his eyes and brushes by them to head back downstairs to where the moving truck is parked, grumbling, “Move now, flirt later. I don’t have all day.”</p>
<p>Sarukui laughs as he steps aside to let Konoha through, bracing a box of his own on his hip. “If you really thought you were going to somehow be able to avoid all of this, then you’re very naïve. Just who do you think we’re friends with, anyway?” he says to Konoha, which earns him an exasperated sigh. </p>
<p>Bokuto laughs and shrugs before heading back downstairs, Akaashi trailing after him, all but rendering Bokuto’s earlier efforts for naught, and when they get back outside, Bokuto scrambles up into the moving truck to hand a box down to Akaashi, leaning down to kiss him as he does so, silly and sickeningly sweet and almost certainly on purpose. Konoha huffs and mutters something under his breath about needing to make new friends. </p>
<p>In the end, Bokuto does, eventually, end up bringing up most of the heaviest boxes and by the time they’re done carrying everything up and sorting all the boxes into the right rooms, it’s early in the afternoon already, so Bokuto buys them all a late lunch and Konoha begrudgingly forgives Bokuto for his earlier transgressions. It doesn’t stop Konoha from beating a hasty retreat, though, when Bokuto asks Konoha and Sarukui if they want to stay to help assemble some of their furniture, but they leave with promises to throw them a housewarming party once they’re properly settled in. So Akaashi spends the rest of his afternoon with Bokuto, just the two of them, wrestling with a coffee table that comes in too many pieces, with instructions that are impossible to understand. Akaashi swears that the instructions call for parts that aren’t even there, and Bokuto loses a couple of the ones that they do have, and at the end of the day, all they have to show for it is a low table that wobbles a little when you nudge it the wrong way. But they get takeout from a place down the street for dinner and eat at their new table and Akaashi thinks to himself that it’s kind of perfect, in a way. </p>
<p>By the time nighttime hits, they’ve barely unpacked anything and have even less furniture set up and the mattress they ordered won’t arrive until tomorrow, and Akaashi would maybe feel more anxious about the state of their apartment but Bokuto rifles through all their boxes to find the truly impressive number of soft, colorful blankets that he’s amassed over his lifetime to pile them all in the middle of the bedroom. He finds most of them, as one might expect, in boxes marked <i>sheets</i> or <i>bedding</i> but there’s a bright red one he unearths from underneath a huge stack of books and candles and a pale lavender one in a box inexplicably labeled <i>boxes</i> in Bokuto’s scrawling handwriting and a brown one with little paw prints on it from where it’s bundled around a set of ceramic dishes. The end result is less of a bed than a sort of nest of blankets and pillows, but as Akaashi lies down and feels Bokuto curl around him, an arm sliding around his waist, lips pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, he finds that he doesn’t mind. Bokuto is warm, pressed up against his back, radiating heat, always, even in the dead of winter, a sharp contrast to the cold that always seems to creep into Akaashi’s bones, and he sighs happily into Akaashi’s hair as Akaashi snuggles a little closer. Akaashi can hear the steady in-out of Bokuto’s breathing and the whir of white noise from the street below, and in the soft, safe intimacy of darkness, Akaashi feels cozy and content. It’s so easy to forget about everything he’s been anxious about for weeks—the move and starting college and beginning the impossible task of figuring out what he wants to do with his life—and he wonders, irrationally, if there’s a way to make every day just like this, easy, forgiving, if there’s a way to bottle up this feeling for the days when he needs it the most. </p>
<p>A long silence drapes over them, thick and comforting like the first big snowfall muffling out the world under sheets of white, so long that Akaashi thinks that Bokuto must’ve fallen asleep. He’s always slept easier than Akaashi, so able to leave his worries at the door and just be when he needs to. </p>
<p>But then Bokuto squeezes Akaashi a little around the middle and murmurs, “Hey, Akaashi.”</p>
<p>“Hmm?” Akaashi hums softly. He rolls onto his back so he can tip his head to one side and look at Bokuto. The room is dark, but Akaashi thinks he can still see the radiant glow of Bokuto’s eyes, catching the faint strains of moonlight peeking in through a crack in the curtains. </p>
<p>Bokuto props himself up on an elbow and smiles down at Akaashi. “I think,” he says quietly, just barely above a whisper, and the hushed tone of his voice makes him sound almost reverent. “I think this is gonna be a really good year.”</p>
<p>Bokuto says it like April still marks the beginning of something new, like he hasn’t been out of school for long enough for it to lose a little of its meaning, and Akaashi laughs. </p>
<p>“You say that every year,” he says, because Bokuto does, because for as long as Akaashi’s known him, he’s always said it like a mantra, like a promise, a new year’s resolution made a few months late, or maybe right on time, depending on who you ask. </p>
<p>Bokuto’s fingers rub absent circles into the soft skin of Akaashi’s hip and he leans in a little closer like he’s about to divulge some important secret. </p>
<p>“Have I ever been wrong?” he asks. </p>
<p>Bokuto’s tone is light and playful like he’s just making a joke, but Akaashi feels his breath snag at the back of his throat anyways. Bokuto says these things sometimes like he’ll speak it into existence if he has to, like he’ll never learn how to take no for an answer, and Akaashi’s always wondered where it comes from, this incredible capacity for fearlessness, this way he dives head-first into everything he does thinking not <i>if</i> but <i>when</i>. </p>
<p>“No,” Akaashi says, and it feels a little like a confessional. “No, I suppose you haven’t.”</p>
<p>Bokuto smiles and leans the rest of the way down to catch Akaashi’s mouth in a kiss, soft and slow and sweet, and as Akaashi lifts his arms to wind around Bokuto’s neck, to tangle his fingers in Bokuto’s hair, he thinks to himself that even if Bokuto does turn out to be wrong, even if this year ends up falling just short of Bokuto’s lofty goals, his version of the world is one that Akaashi would rather live in anyways.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don't really <i>love</i> how this one turned out. I'm gonna try my best to fix it once bkak week is all over but in the meantime I'm sorry this is so.... lackluster adlkjfg hopefully the next one will be better!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. firsts.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>or: on showing more than telling (but finding that there’s something in the saying of it anyways)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><i>the first feelings were discovered here.</i><br/>
<i>and if I existed then, I would have named every one after <a href="https://exastria.tumblr.com/post/161409159250/2wentysixletters-look-here-this-is-what-you">you</a>.</i><br/>
<i>after all, I am only human.</i></p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>The thing about Bokuto is that he loves in a way that’s unlike anyone Akaashi has ever known, unabashed and unafraid, like even in this he doesn’t know how to back down, how to do it in half-measures. He loves like it’s the easiest thing in the entire world, with his whole heart, grinning brilliantly as he picks Akaashi up and spins him around when he’s particularly excited, laughing as he peppers tiny kisses all over Akaashi’s face until Akaashi is flushed and flustered, the words rolling off his tongue like punctuation in each sentence, like he has too much trapped inside of him, like it has to get out somehow. <i>I love you</i>, bringing Akaashi coffee in bed in the morning after a long night of studying when he’s tired and grumpy. <i>I love you</i>, picking Akaashi up from the university library after they’re both done with practices and study sessions for the day so they can go get dinner together. <i>I love you</i>, slipping his hand into Akaashi’s as they head out to run errands on the weekend, crumpled list in the other with reminders to buy milk and and shampoo. Easy, simple, always, like it’s the ground truth of the world that he keeps coming back to, like a touchstone at the center of the entire universe. Akaashi’s never quite known what to do with it, a love like that.</p>
<p>The thing about Akaashi is that he’s always known love to be something quiet and private, grew up knowing the gentle, unspoken way his parents loved, unquestionable and unwavering, but spoken in the language of a hand touched to the small of the back, reaching to smooth out wrinkles in the other’s shirt, carefully packed bentos filled with favorite foods. Akaashi thinks about it sometimes and can’t come up with a single time he’s ever heard his parents say it to each other, can’t quite rid himself of the way the words feel awkward and unwieldy on his tongue. His parents call him sometimes and maybe it’s that they can no longer love in the manner of fresh milk bread on the weekends or steaming bowls of soup when he’s sick, but when they tell him that they love him, that they miss him, that they’re so very proud of him, Akaashi feels a panic rise high in his chest and hangs up without saying it back. He realizes after a handful of months of being away from home that he’s never said it to anyone, ever, in any way, in any context, and once he realizes it, it begins to loom ominously in his peripheral vision, a blind spot he can’t unsee. </p>
<p>Not that it’s an issue, really, at least not in a way that tangibly matters. If it bothers Bokuto at all that every time he says it (<i>I love you</i>, murmured drowsily into Akaashi’s hair as they drift off for the night) all Akaashi can do is smile and maybe press a quick kiss to his mouth or squeeze his hand in return, Bokuto never says anything about it. He seems content to love in the way that makes sense to him (<i>I love you</i>, murmured through a crackly phone line before matches that Akaashi can’t make it to), never mind if it ever comes back. Because Bokuto loves without reservation or expectation, because for him, it’s all in the doing of it, pouring out all this endless feeling out into the world and knowing that it’s enough just to be known (<i>I love you</i>, over dinner, just because). </p>
<p>Except that it <i>is</i> an issue, sort of, in the private recesses of Akaashi’s mind, in the quiet lulls between sentences. <i>It would be perfect here</i>, Akaashi sometimes thinks, when Bokuto flops down on their bed after a bath with wet hair, blinking at Akaashi with expectant eyes until Akaashi caves and dries his hair for him. Or <i>here</i>, when Bokuto wraps his arms around Akaashi’s waist and tucks his chin over Akaashi’s shoulder as Akaashi cooks. Or <i>here</i>, when Bokuto tries and fails and yet still tries again to stay up late with Akaashi when schoolwork piles up because all his professors have assigned essays to be due in the same week. Akaashi thinks it each time, can feel it taking shape in his mouth, but it always sticks to the back of his throat like honey, cloyingly sweet, choking him.  </p>
<p>Akaashi goes home with Bokuto once during the rainy season for Bokuto’s birthday, and he’s reminded all over again just how much Bokuto is a product of his environment, his whole family exuberantly warm and loud in their affection, his parents and his siblings all shouting over each other like it doesn’t count if no one hears them. Bokuto had told him once, way back in high school, the first time Akaashi went over to his house, that he and his siblings were those kids who grew up knowing without a doubt that their parents were still madly, disgustingly in love, and Akaashi hadn’t known what he’d meant by that until he walked into a house all but bursting at the seams with a very boisterous brand of care and been absolutely floored. Akaashi hadn’t known that there existed people who actually loved like this until that moment, and he’s still sometimes overwhelmed with the easy and unrelenting way praise and endearment is doled out in that household, but he has to admit that there’s something kind of wonderful about it, to be so open and free. Even though Akaashi knows that he’ll never be like this, he wants, sometimes, to learn just a little bit of how to be the kind of person who can bare his soul without startling. </p>
<p>Akaashi practices, sometimes, turning the words over in his mouth, hoping they’ll start to feel a little more second nature, hoping to make them familiar. <i>I love you</i>, in the dark when Bokuto falls asleep before him. <i>I love you</i>, from the sidelines as Bokuto takes the court by storm. <i>I love you</i>, as he watches Bokuto hang laundry out to dry, humming softly to himself. But when he thinks to say it for real, it comes out like this, Akaashi reaching out to tuck in a tag that’s sticking out of the back of Bokuto’s shirt, or this, brushing Bokuto’s hair out of his eyes when he leaves it soft and loose on weekends, or this, waking up early to send Bokuto off when his team goes away for a week to play a series of matches a few cities away. And it probably shouldn’t bother him so much, because it’s not like he doesn’t mean it and it’s not like Bokuto doesn’t know either because every time, Bokuto smiles Akaashi’s favorite smile, the one that pulls more gently at his expressive features, but Akaashi’s mulled it over for long enough that he’s twisted himself into knots about it. Unnecessary, maybe, but unavoidable. </p>
<p>And then, on a Wednesday, in the evening, Akaashi’s sitting at their rickety coffee table, trying in vain to push through writing an essay that refuses to be written, and he doesn’t quite realize how late it’s gotten until his stomach starts growling and he looks up and realizes that Bokuto was supposed to have been home from practice an hour ago. Akaashi checks his phone and finds that he hasn’t missed any messages, and he’s just getting up to head to the door to maybe look for Bokuto, fingers flying across his phone screen and halfway to what’s sure to be a frantic text asking Bokuto where he is and if something happened and is he okay, when the front door flies open and Bokuto bursts in, cheeks flushed and out of breath but grinning triumphantly. </p>
<p>“I’m home!” Bokuto announces cheerily like nothing’s wrong, kicking off his shoes by the door and tossing his things aside. He bounds over to Akaashi to kiss him in greeting, curling an arm around Akaashi’s waist. </p>
<p>Akaashi lets his shoulders sag, relieved, but he says anyways, “You’re late.”</p>
<p>Bokuto smiles a little sheepishly at Akaashi. “I know, I’m sorry,” he says. Then, grinning, playful, “Did you worry?”</p>
<p>“I was considering it,” Akaashi says primly, but he doesn’t mean any of it half as much as he sounds. </p>
<p>Bokuto makes a sort of apologetic face. “I’m sorry,” he says again, eyes wide and painfully earnest. But then a moment later, he’s smiling again, and he says, “It was worth it, though, I promise.”</p>
<p>Bokuto proudly brandishes a plastic bag Akaashi’s didn’t even realize he was holding, and when Akaashi peeks inside, he finds that it’s filled with onigiri of various shapes and sizes. </p>
<p>“So Tsum-Tsum’s brother owns an onigiri shop, right? And he’s been trying out all sorts of new things, so he brought a bunch to practice today for us to try,” Bokuto says, bright and excited. “They’re really, really good, so I wanted to bring you some, but then because of all that, I was running late, and I missed my train, and so I—”</p>
<p>Akaashi kisses him, chest aching, because it’s so very sweet and so very Bokuto that he doesn’t really know what else to do with himself. Bokuto makes a sort of quiet, surprised sound, but goes soft and pliant in an instant, leaning into Akaashi to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until Akaashi starts to feel a little dizzy. </p>
<p>“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says when he pulls away. </p>
<p>Bokuto tips his head to one side. “Hmm?”</p>
<p>Akaashi runs his fingers along the sharp line of Bokuto’s jaw. “I love you,” he says softly, “But please text me next time you’re running late.”</p>
<p>Bokuto blinks. “Oh, yeah, sure,” he says. “Sorry.”</p>
<p>Akaashi can tell it’s mostly reflex, because he can almost see Bokuto puzzling over something, and Akaashi has no idea what it could be, so he just waits, expectant, and he’s rewarded a moment later with a brilliant, blinding smile. </p>
<p>“Wait, Akaashi,” Bokuto says, leaning in a little, eyes shining. “What did you just say?”</p>
<p>And it hits Akaashi all at once, and he draws in a sharp breath as his heart leaps to his throat, pulse suddenly racing a mile a minute at something that felt so ordinary, so commonplace and easy just a moment ago. </p>
<p>“Please text me,” Akaashi says, half just to be difficult, but also half because now that he’s thinking about it, he’s starting to feel like the words are gumming up in his mouth again. </p>
<p>Bokuto laughs. “No, before that,” he says, teasing but not unkind. </p>
<p>Part of Akaashi wants to hide, because it still feels unnatural to say it, because the only reason he’d been able to say it before was precisely that he wasn’t thinking about it. But the other part of Akaashi, the part that’s trying so very hard to learn this like a foreign language, nudges him forward. <i>I have to do this</i>, he thinks and screws his face up for a moment like he’s bracing himself. After a moment, he peeks up to meet Bokuto’s eager eyes. No use in chickening out now, Akaashi supposes. He thinks to himself that he’s probably never been very good at leaving anything halfway finished either. </p>
<p>“I love you,” Akaashi says quietly, feeling a blush crawling up his neck to settle in his cheeks. </p>
<p>Bokuto laughs again, buoyant and bright, filling the air like sunshine, and he leans his forehead against Akaashi’s. </p>
<p>“I know,” Bokuto says, still grinning from ear to ear. “But that was nice.”</p>
<p>Akaashi’s face is probably bright red and saying it still felt a little like tripping over his own tongue and he thinks that after so many years without practice, saying it will probably always feel just a little bit strange, but Bokuto looks so incredibly pleased that Akaashi thinks that like most things when it comes to Bokuto, it’s probably worth the effort, in the end.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <strike>akaashi in this one totally isn't inspired by my own reservations re: saying 'I love you' absolutely not. nope.</strike>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. clothes sharing.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>or: finding comfort in trivial things during trying times</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>when the light comes,<br/>
may you wear the <a href="https://alonesomes.tumblr.com/post/80047901303/let-us-pray-for-the-foxes-sleeping-in-your-knees">morning</a> well</i>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<p>“Akaashi.”</p>
<p>Akaashi hears the soft voice vaguely through the thick veil of opaque sleep and then feels something nudge his arm. There’s a pause, and then again, more insistent this time:</p>
<p>“<i>Akaashi</i>.”</p>
<p>He’s jostled again a little more firmly, and maybe that’s what finally punctures the drowsy bubble around him, and he jerks his head up, suddenly awake. He feels odd and groggy and his shoulders feel a little stiff, and he realizes a moment later that it’s because he’s fallen asleep on top of all of his schoolwork, and when he looks blearily around him, he remembers that he never quite made it to bed the night before, too caught up in everything he’s got to get done in the next handful of days before the term’s up. Akaashi’s got papers and books scattered everywhere, and somewhere in the back of his mind, as he sits up and looks around at his surroundings, wondering what time it is, wondering how long he’s been asleep, he remembers that he wanted to finish outlining his final paper for his contemporary poetry class. From behind the drawn living room curtains, the milky light of dawn is starting to peek in, and Akaashi can hear the city beginning to wake up for a new day, the low whir of a few stray cars driving by, the pitter-patter of footsteps from his upstairs neighbors getting ready for work. As the world swims into some kind of focus, Akaashi’s eyes land on Bokuto, who’s crouched beside him and looking at him with an expression caught halfway between amusement and concern. </p>
<p>Bokuto smiles a little. “Hey,” he says quietly. </p>
<p>Akaashi blinks slowly at Bokuto. “What time is it?” he asks. </p>
<p>“Time for you to go to bed,” Bokuto offers, hopeful. And then, when Akaashi doesn’t budge, he sighs and says, “Like six-thirty.”</p>
<p>Akaashi rubs at his eyes, mumbling under his breath, “Shit.”</p>
<p>Bokuto hums and reaches out to brush Akaashi’s hair back, and the gesture feels steadying, soothing on Akaashi’s frayed nerves. </p>
<p>“I was going to go for a run,” Bokuto says, in a rare, hushed tone, like anything louder would be wrong in the still silence of early morning. “Why don’t you go take a nap? I’ll wake you up in a couple of hours before I have to leave for practice.”</p>
<p>Akaashi frowns. “I wanted to finish this last night,” he says, looking at all the papers and books lying on the table and ground around him, some kind of vague panic rising at the back of his throat. He can see in one of the notebooks closest to him where his handwriting trails off into an unintelligible scribble from when he’d fallen asleep and feels his gut clench. “I had a plan.”</p>
<p>Bokuto smiles fondly at him but shakes his head, letting out a huff of a breath that’s maybe trying to be a laugh. He lifts his hands to cup Akaashi’s jaw gently, leaning in to drop a kiss onto Akaashi’s forehead, and Akaashi lets his eyes flutter shut without meaning to.</p>
<p>“I know,” Bokuto says, and he’s got that tone that he sometimes gets when Akaashi’s being a little difficult and ridiculous, patience and understanding colored in shades of worry. “And you can make a new one after you get some rest. It’s not like you’re going to be able to get any writing done like this anyways.”</p>
<p>And he’s right, of course, and Akaashi knows he’s right, knows that the anxious instinct trying to claw its way out of his chest is irrational at best, but it doesn’t ever quite stop the way it sometimes feels like if he stops, he’ll get left behind with no way to catch up to where he needs to be. It must get tiring, Akaashi thinks sometimes, loving someone who can’t seem to stop creating obstacles for themselves, because they’ve been here before, each time finals season rolls around, Akaashi repeatedly finding himself thinking in circles until he spirals out entirely. But Bokuto just smiles softly instead of getting upset, reaches out to pick up Akaashi’s glasses from where they must’ve fallen when he passed out on his work, and kisses him like even like this, he’s someone worth having.  </p>
<p>Bokuto stands and holds a hand out for Akaashi to take, laughing a little when Akaashi just sort of stares at him. “Don’t make me pick you up,” he says, teasing, and Akaashi feels a little like he could cry. </p>
<p>Akaashi lets Bokuto help him up and steer him towards their bedroom, lets him drop Akaashi’s glasses on the nightstand and pull all the curtains shut to sink the room back into darkness, lets Bokuto shut the door behind him when he leaves with a promise to be back in a couple hours. And for a long moment, Akaashi just stands in the middle of the room, exhausted all the way down to his bones but unable to move, somehow, feeling foggy and out of sorts. Distantly, he hears the front door to their apartment open and close, the soft sound of Bokuto’s humming fading into silence as he trots down the hall and down the stairs to begin his morning routine. Akaashi’s whole body feels heavy, even as he rouses himself enough to strip out of yesterday’s clothes and wander over to the bed, his feet dragging against the plush carpet of their bedroom. As he crawls into bed, he finds one of Bokuto’s t-shirts tangled among the sheets, oversized with the MSBY Black Jackals logo emblazoned on the front that Bokuto brought home a handful of months ago when a meet-and-greet event ended with copious amounts of extra merchandise. Akaashi pulls it over his head and burrows under the covers, tugging the blankets up over his ears, burying his face in a pillow as he feels the tension drain from his body. It’s cozy in the thick cocoon of blankets and the shirt Akaashi’s stolen from Bokuto is soft and well-worn and the pillow smells like Bokuto’s shampoo, bright, cheerful mango. He’s out in an instant. </p>
<p>The next time Akaashi’s shaken awake, he blinks his eyes open feeling moderately more human. The light coming in through the crack in the curtains is a warm yellow now, welcoming him into the waking hours of the day. On the street below, a car honks impatiently, and Akaashi can hear the water running in one of the neighboring apartments. It’s properly morning, and Bokuto sits on the bed next to Akaashi, one hand running gently through Akaashi’s hair, the other holding Akaashi’s favorite mug, the one that’s dark blue and speckled in a spray of white and gold flecks like the night sky. </p>
<p>“Morning,” Bokuto says. He offers Akaashi the mug. “Coffee?”</p>
<p>Akaashi yawns and sits up, the huge pile of blankets he likes to sleep under bunching up around his waist. Bokuto looks rested and awake in a way Akaashi can’t quite remember feeling in some time, too frantic over the end of the term. Bokuto’s freshly showered, his cheeks a little rosy from the hot water and his hair still a little damp and loose in a way that always makes Akaashi want to reach out to run his fingers through it. Akaashi takes the mug from Bokuto and on a whim, sets it aside on the nightstand without drinking any coffee, opting instead to tug Bokuto closer by the collar of his shirt and kiss him. Bokuto laughs a little against Akaashi’s mouth but leans into it as Akaashi crawls a little closer to settle on his lap. Akaashi lets his fingers tangle in Bokuto’s messy hair, so incredibly soft without the ridiculous amounts of product he likes to put in it, and Akaashi shivers a little when he feels Bokuto hike up his shirt to run his fingertips along the length of Akaashi’s spine. </p>
<p>“Akaashi,” Bokuto says between kisses, laughter still curling around his words. “Akaashi, I have to go to practice soon. I can’t be late.”</p>
<p>Akaashi pulls back just an inch to pout, arms still looped around Bokuto’s neck, head still hazy from sleep and a kind of want that sits low in his stomach. </p>
<p>“You should’ve woken me up earlier,” Akaashi says, even though as he says it, he can hear how petulant and childish he sounds. </p>
<p>Bokuto gasps, eyes widening in exaggerated surprise. “Who are you and what have you done with Akaashi?” </p>
<p>Akaashi tries, and probably fails spectacularly, to glower at him before dropping his head down onto Bokuto’s shoulder, pressing his face into the curve of where his neck meets his collarbones. Bokuto’s skin smells soft and clean, and his hands are warm where they still sit against Akaashi’s sides. Bokuto’s laugh rumbles through his chest, and he presses a kiss into Akaashi’s hair. </p>
<p>Bokuto fiddles absently with the hem of Akaashi’s shirt and then after a moment asks, “Is this my shirt?” </p>
<p>Akaashi shrugs without lifting himself off of Bokuto. “Looks better on me anyways,” he mumbles into Bokuto’s skin, and he’s not really sure what he’s even saying, but it makes Bokuto laugh again, so he can’t find it in himself to regret it. </p>
<p>“You might be right,” Bokuto says, nudging Akaashi gently to get him to lift his head again so he can kiss the tip of Akaashi’s nose. </p>
<p>Akaashi leans in to brush his lips against Bokuto’s again and says, “Stay.”</p>
<p>Bokuto smiles at him like he’s being particularly silly, and it’s so adoring that Akaashi has to close his eyes again, leaning his forehead against Bokuto’s. </p>
<p>“I thought you had work to do,” Bokuto says, light and playful. </p>
<p>Akaashi hums. “Well, <i>someone</i> told me it was a good idea to take breaks every once in a while,” he reasons. </p>
<p>Bokuto shakes his head, still grinning, and Akaashi lets out a sigh, resigning himself to losing this round. Sure enough, Bokuto eases Akaashi off of his lap and makes as if to leave, kissing Akaashi one last time before he stands up. Akaashi lets a hand linger around Bokuto’s wrist, for no other reason than because he can. </p>
<p>“I’ll be back this afternoon. We’re supposed to get out of practice early today,” Bokuto says. He tugs on the shirt Akaashi’s wearing and winks. “You can keep the shirt.”</p>
<p>Akaashi rolls his eyes but can’t quite fight the smile pulling at his mouth. “So generous,” he says. </p>
<p>Bokuto leaves laughing with a promise to pick up some snacks for Akaashi on his way home, and Akaashi pulls his knees up to his chest, heart feeling warm and full, a far cry from the desperate disquiet that began his day. He reaches over to the nightstand to finally have a sip of the coffee that Bokuto brought him, strong and perfect and just the way he likes it despite the fact that Bokuto has always preferred tea over coffee. Akaashi closes his eyes and breathes out a soft sigh, letting himself have another moment or two to linger in bed before getting started with his own day. He drinks his coffee and sinks into the nest of pillows behind him, wondering idly how much it’d take to convince Bokuto to be late to morning practice, just once. Maybe, he thinks, he’ll try again tomorrow.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>lmao these are really starting be so tangentially related to the day's prompts this one definitely got away from me I'm sorry alkfjgldf anyway I love silly, sleepy akaashi</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. touch.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>or: a love that lives in light fingertips and careful words</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>against my body,<br/>
your body lay like a warm soft <a href="http://www-personal.umich.edu/~pfa/poemquot/sheisaway.html">star</a>.<br/>
how many nights I have waked and watched<br/>
you, in how many places. who knows?</i>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>It’s late in the afternoon when Bokuto arrives home from practice, like it always is, and Akaashi’s curled up on the couch with a book, savoring the time he has left before the new term picks up again, like he always does, a mug of tea slowly cooling on the coffee table they had to spend all of the previous weekend putting back together because it finally fell apart on them after wobbling perilously for months. Rain drums against the living room windows, providing a background buzz of white noise that makes the outside world feel muffled and far away. Akaashi’s bundled up in a thick sweater, with one of Bokuto’s favorite colorful throw blankets tucked across his lap, and he’s just wondering if he has everything he needs to maybe make some soup for dinner when the front door flies open and Bokuto comes stumbling in, shaking droplets of water off of his coat. </p><p>“I’m home,” Bokuto says, an odd edge to his voice as he dumps all of his things unceremoniously in a pile by the door, kicking his shoes aside and dumping his wet jacket atop his wet bag before shutting the door behind him. </p><p>Akaashi hums and flips through his book to find the old receipt he’s using as a bookmark. “Welcome home,” he says, marking his place and setting the book aside. </p><p>He turns towards the door, half-expecting Bokuto to breeze by and drop a kiss on the top of his head before heading to their bedroom to change into comfier clothes, but instead, Bokuto trudges straight over and hoists himself over the back of the couch to drop himself into Akaashi’s lap, landing with a soft <i>oof</i>. Bokuto’s hair is damp from the walk from the train station, and Akaashi debates the merits of getting up to get him a towel so he won’t catch a cold, but Bokuto is heavy, and he’s winding his arms around Akaashi’s waist and burying his face in Akaashi’s chest, and Akaashi thinks to himself that there are probably more important things than wet hair. </p><p>“Bad day?” Akaashi asks softly, running careful fingers through Bokuto’s hair. </p><p>Bokuto nods without lifting his head. A small damp spot gathers in Akaashi’s shirt where water from Bokuto’s hair drips.</p><p>“Do you want to talk about it?” Akaashi presses, just a little bit. </p><p>Bokuto shakes his head, and his grip around Akaashi’s waist tightens, just so. Akaashi lets out a breath and lets his fingers trail down over Bokuto’s shoulders to rub soothing circles into his back. It’s been a while, Akaashi thinks, since the last really bad day Bokuto had. They’re much fewer and farther between than they used to be, the moments when Bokuto’s mood spirals downwards like a stone sinking to the bottom of a deep pool. Akaashi remembers the first year after Bokuto had graduated from high school, how Bokuto would call him all the time out of the blue, all hours of the day and night, trying to find the words to place names to emotions, how Akaashi would spend hours he didn’t have talking through it all with him, trying to help him find ways to make the bad feelings seem smaller. It doesn’t happen much anymore, because Bokuto’s practiced at it like he practices everything else, diligent and tireless and single-minded in his focus to summit the next mountain in front of him, but Akaashi’s reminded every now and again that there’s a limit to everything. </p><p>“People kind of suck sometimes,” Bokuto says finally, after a long silence, tipping his head up to look at Akaashi, his wide eyes speaking volumes even though he doesn’t really say anything at all. In the late afternoon light, washed out from brilliant gold by the rain into something a little thinner, Bokuto’s usually bright eyes look watery and almost dull. </p><p>Akaashi tucks back a couple strands of Bokuto’s hair that have fallen in front of his face. He forgets, sometimes, how long Bokuto’s hair is when it’s not done up in his usual wild hairstyle and makes a mental note to remind him to get a haircut soon. </p><p>“I know,” Akaashi says gently, chest aching a little at the downward curve of Bokuto’s mouth. He runs his fingers along the line of Bokuto’s jaw. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Akaashi leans down to kiss Bokuto’s forehead, lifting his chin up to kiss him properly and Bokuto leans into the touch. Bokuto’s skin is cool from the walk home in the rain and he’s trembling just a little bit in a way that Akaashi thinks probably has nothing to do with the cold, reaching needy hands to clutch at Akaashi’s shirt, to pull him impossibly closer. Akaashi doesn’t say anything like <i>it’s going to be okay</i> or <i>try not think too much about it</i> or even <i>don’t worry</i>, because he knows that it isn’t helpful, knows that promises don’t mean much without anything to show for it, and Akaashi has never lied to Bokuto, not once. Outside, the rain has started to ease up a little, and the light coming in the windows is starting to get a bit brighter, and Akaashi kisses him and kisses him and kisses him, on the temples, the apples of his cheeks, the corner of his mouth, before Bokuto finally cracks a tiny smile and then suddenly shivers. Akaashi clicks his tongue and eases Bokuto off of him to stand. Bokuto whines softly, mouth turning down into a pout again. </p><p>“Come on,” Akaashi says, holding his hand out for Bokuto to take. “You’re going to catch a cold.”</p><p>Bokuto drags his feet a little but lets Akaashi help him up anyways, lets Akaashi draw him a hot bath and fuss over him and get him changed into comfy sweatpants and that old t-shirt that he got from Interhigh back in high school that Bokuto still loves so much, even though the text is faded and illegible in some places, holes starting to wear into the seams. Akaashi brings Bokuto a mug of his favorite jasmine tea and piles a few fuzzy blankets on top of him and sits in the bed next to him, gently towel-drying his hair. Bokuto still looks a little down, but the color has started to return to his cheeks and his eyes have regained some of their usual shine as he watches Akaashi, thoughtful and quiet. It’s a different kind of quiet than earlier, not heavy and oppressive, but quiet in the way that only Bokuto, out of everyone Akaashi has ever known, manages to be, silent and still but for the way Akaashi can all but see the gears constantly turning and turning and turning in Bokuto’s head. </p><p>Akaashi lets his hands linger even after Bokuto’s hair is dry, toying a little with the soft strands of hair. Bokuto reaches up to catch one of Akaashi’s hands in his own, turning to press a light kiss into Akaashi’s palm. He laces their fingers together, his skin warm against Akaashi’s. </p><p>“Hey, Akaashi?” Bokuto says, voice quiet and almost tentative, and it makes Akaashi want to track down every last person who’s ever made Bokuto feel small. </p><p>“Yes, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says. </p><p>Bokuto looks at Akaashi like he’s got an answer to every last question in the universe, and it should be terrifying, to have that kind of responsibility, but Akaashi has always found it easy to want to try, for this, for him. </p><p>“Would you still love me if I sucked at volleyball?” Bokuto asks. </p><p>Bokuto asks it like he’s just asking to ask, but Akaashi knows somewhere at the back of his mind that they’re not talking about volleyball at all, not really. It makes something sharp poke between his ribs, a feeling like air slowly leaking out of his lungs. He wonders what exactly it was this time that’s got Bokuto thinking things that could never be true, not in a million years. Someone on the internet with too much time to devote to tearing someone else down, perhaps. Maybe a gossip column manufacturing scandals to stay relevant. Though he supposes it hardly matters, in the end. </p><p>“I’d still love you,” Akaashi says, and he’s gotten better these days at tripping less over his words, at speaking his love in a way that Bokuto understands, “Even if you never played volleyball ever again.” </p><p>Bokuto lets out a half-laugh in a huff of a breath, cheeks rosy. “Promise?” he asks, eyes round and hopeful. </p><p>Akaashi laughs quietly, running his hands across the sharp planes of Bokuto’s face, the curve of his brow, the high ridge of his cheekbones. <i>How could I not?</i> Akaashi thinks to himself. Akaashi’s been in love since he was fifteen years old, having fallen head-first into the deep end that one day, going to watch some high school matches on a whim back in middle school, and along the way, Akaashi’s gone and found a love for a sport that was never really meant to be anything more than a way to pass the time, an idle hobby he’d picked up without intending for it to be anything significant. But it was never about the volleyball, Akaashi thinks, not really, at the end of the day. It was always about what it represented, a kind of fearlessness, a kind of freedom. It was always about <i>him</i>.</p><p>“Yes,” Akaashi murmurs into the quiet space between them. “Yes, always.”</p><p>Bokuto smiles, wide and bright at last, beautiful and brilliant. There are some promises, Akaashi thinks, that will never be difficult to keep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>alfgdjk sorry this is a day late! tryna catch up hopefully today or tomorrow!</p><p>also what was it that made bokuto so upset? don't ask me lmao imagine what you will</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. road trip.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>or: learning that home is wherever you are</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>I want a word for the <a href="https://anoraborealis.tumblr.com/post/83884704181">almost-home</a>.<br/>
that point where the highway’s monotony becomes familiar<br/>
that subway stop whose name will always wake you from day’s-end dozing<br/>
that first glimpse of the skyline<br/>
that you never loved until you left it behind.</i>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<p>One of the unfortunate truths of the world is that Akaashi has always had a terrible sense of direction. He’d gotten lucky, back in high school, when Fukuroudani turned out to only be a five-minute walk from the train station, but finding his way to campus for his first day of college had been a two hour long nightmare, never mind finding anything further away or less familiar. So in the spring, just before the start of a new school year, when Bokuto excitedly suggests getting away for a weekend, mentioning something about an <i>onsen</i> a few hours away and Akaashi needing some rest and relaxation before killing himself with work all over again, Akaashi finds himself wondering just how relaxing the vacation will end up being.  </p>
<p>“We don’t have a car,” Akaashi says.</p>
<p>Bokuto shrugs. “We’ll rent one,” he offers, easy, simple, always. He leans in a little closer, eyes wide and eager. “Come on, it’ll be great. I’ll drive and everything, so you don’t have to worry about it.”</p>
<p>Akaashi frowns at the implication. “I know how to drive,” he says, mostly to be difficult, sounding more indignant than he really means. </p>
<p>“Akaashi,” Bokuto says very seriously, placing his hands on Akaashi’s shoulders. His amber eyes are bright and adoring. “I love you, but you are a terrible driver.”</p>
<p>Akaashi huffs. “I drive just fine.”</p>
<p>Bokuto laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You get upset at everyone,” he says, teasing and fond. “And then you get lost. And then you get even more upset.”</p>
<p>Akaashi crosses his arms. “Well, maybe other people should drive better,” he mumbles, even though he’d be the first to admit that he really is a terrible driver, and he’s never really enjoyed it anyways. But it’s the principle, really. </p>
<p>Bokuto laughs and lifts his hands to cradle Akaashi’s face and kiss him like he can’t help himself, keeps peppering Akaashi’s face with tiny, light kisses, on his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, until Akaashi lets out a laugh of his own and says, <i>yes, okay, yes, yes</i> and Bokuto beams. There are a lot of things, Akaashi thinks, that he’d agree to just to see that luminous smile.</p>
<p>And so in the end, they wind up renting a car the next weekend, and Akaashi frets all week over what to bring and packs way too much stuff, and Bokuto busies himself with making the perfect playlist for their drive. It’s early on a Saturday morning when they set out, and Akaashi would find it almost offensive if they didn’t have a good reason to be out of bed before noon, because Saturday mornings are sacred, thank you very much. It’s usually Akaashi’s one day to sleep in and laze about and generally let himself forget that there’s anything that needs to be done, but Bokuto wakes him up in the early hours of the morning anyways and all but pours him into the car and promises to wake Akaashi when they get there. In hindsight, Akaashi thinks, he probably needed a vacation more than he thought, because it doesn’t even occur to him till they’re speeding away from Tokyo how truly terrible he is at sleeping anywhere that isn’t his own bed. </p>
<p>Akaashi watches as the bright, shiny city fades into a speck in the distance, letting his hand hang out of the open window to catch the wind in his palm. It’s a warm spring already, the last vestiges of winter having long faded into beautiful, sunny days, and Akaashi’s been hoping that it’s a sign, a good omen for the year to come. He watches the city fall away in breathless wonder, gazing out at the scenery speeding by them. He’s lived in the city all his life, but there’s something that he’s always loved about this, his surroundings opening up to a vast expanse, spotting trees and mountains against the horizon instead of buildings. It’s like the whole world is just waking up, bursting with a rainbow of colors—the brilliant blue of the sky, accented with fluffy white clouds, the soft pinks and yellows of flowers starting to bloom, the hills waving with swathes of vibrant, verdant grass. Akaashi thinks to himself that he’s maybe never seen this much green in his whole life. The air outside smells fresh and clean and new, and Bokuto hums along with the music playing softly through the speakers, drumming his fingertips against the steering wheel, and despite the early hour, Akaashi can’t find it in himself to be upset about any of it. </p>
<p>They’ve listened through Bokuto’s road trip playlist twice before either of them speaks, content to just sit in a comfortable silence until Akaashi takes stock of how much time they’ve spent on the road and tips his head to the side to look at Bokuto. Bokuto, who’s got his eyes trained intently on the road, squinting a little like he does when he’s trying to focus on something. Bokuto, who even while driving can’t quite seem to sit straight, one foot propped up on his seat, cheek resting on his knee. </p>
<p>“Are we lost?” Akaashi asks, because his sense of direction might be bad, but he still has some instincts. </p>
<p>Bokuto glances at Akaashi out of the corner of his eye and pulls his mouth up into a sunny smile. “Of course not,” he says, almost too cheerily. </p>
<p>Akaashi raises his eyebrows. “We’re lost,” he says flatly, though he’s more amused than upset about it. </p>
<p>Bokuto waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t be silly. I know where we’re going,” he says. And then after a moment’s thought, he adds, “Mostly.” A beat, and then, as self-assured as ever, “It’ll be fine.”</p>
<p>Akaashi laughs. “Just so you know, I refuse to sleep in this car,” he says.</p>
<p>“Shut up,” Bokuto says around a wide grin as he peers over at a passing road sign. “I said I know where we are.”</p>
<p>Akaashi hums. “I heard ‘mostly.’”</p>
<p>Bokuto laughs then too, waving his hand in Akaashi’s face as if to fend him off, and Akaashi ducks out of reach, catching Bokuto’s hand in his own. Bokuto lets him hold onto his hand as he drives, smiling as Akaashi laces their fingers together. </p>
<p>“Hey, Akaashi,” Bokuto says softly after a moment’s silence.</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>Bokuto glances over at Akaashi, the late morning sun pooling in his eyes, making them look almost golden. His hair is messy and loose and windblown from driving with the windows rolled down, and Akaashi thinks to himself that for however stunning the scenery around them is, it’s really got nothing on this. </p>
<p>“I love you,” Bokuto says.</p>
<p>Bokuto’s smiling that soft, sweet smile that makes Akaashi’s heart stutter in his chest every time he sees it, and Akaashi feels something warm and content settle into his stomach. He wonders idly if it’d be silly to wish for this drive to never end. </p>
<p>“Keep your eyes on the road,” Akaashi says quietly.</p>
<p>Bokuto chuckles and turns his gaze forward again, sharp eyes settling back in to pinpoint their destination on the horizon. As he drives, Bokuto squeezes Akaashi’s hand as if to say, <i>we’ll get there, I promise</i>, and Akaashi presses a gentle kiss to his knuckles, <i>I know</i>. Though he supposes, if he’s honest, it hardly matters to him, in the end.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry this one's a bit shorter than previous chapters! also parts of this feel a little ooc to me but I don't really have it in me to fix it right now, so please bear with me till I fix things once bkak week is over!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. recovery.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>or: in the end, it really is all in the getting back up</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>I’ll take care of you.<br/>
it’s rotten work.<br/>
not to me. not if it’s <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/10016397-pylades-i-ll-take-care-of-you-orestes-it-s-rotten-work">you</a>.</i>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<p>Bokuto injures himself on a Tuesday. It’s nothing serious or career ending, just a bad sprain at worst, but it means that he can’t play for the next week and the Black Jackals have a match scheduled for the weekend and it’s unfortunate nevertheless. Akaashi gets a call in the afternoon from Bokuto’s coach to pick him up from practice, and when he arrives at the gymnasium, he receives Bokuto from a very beleaguered-looking Miya Atsumu, who’s doing his very best and by the looks of it failing to get Bokuto to settle down and stop putting further strain on his ankle. </p>
<p>“Akaashi!” Bokuto cheers when he spots Akaashi, the pout Akaashi saw pulling at Bokuto’s mouth disappearing in an instant as he bounds over, sprained ankle be damned. </p>
<p>“Hey!” Atsumu shouts after him, scrambling to get Bokuto to stop jumping around so much. “Stop running!”</p>
<p>Akaashi catches Bokuto around the waist before Bokuto has the chance to do too much damage to his ankle, and Bokuto slings an arm across Akaashi’s shoulders, leaning maybe a little too much of his weight on Akaashi, and it’s just a habit, really, the way Bokuto drapes himself over Akaashi, but it does the trick. </p>
<p>“You didn’t tell me you were coming to pick me up,” Bokuto says, grinning and leaning into Akaashi’s space. </p>
<p>Akaashi lets out a soft laugh. “Last minute change of plans,” he says, and then turns to Atsumu and smiles. “Sorry about that. I’ll take him off your hands now. Thank you for looking after him.”</p>
<p>Atsumu blinks at him, and then nods once. “Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he says, sounding almost uncertain. </p>
<p>Akaashi’s run into him a few times since he joined the Black Jackals, and each time, Akaashi gets the distinct impression that Atsumu doesn’t really know what to make of him, of them, maybe. Akaashi remembers playing Inarizaki once, during his third year, and when Fukuroudani had won, Atsumu had said something to the effect of <i>if we meet again, I</i> will <i>crush you</i>, but that had been the end of the line for Akaashi. The next time they’d met, it was after the Black Jackals had held tryouts during Akaashi’s first year out of high school and the thought that they were on the same side now, in a manner of speaking, had hit Akaashi strangely in his chest, reminding him of things that used to seem so big when volleyball was the beginning and end of his entire world. It’s an odd thing, Akaashi thinks sometimes, the way you can look up and realize that things have come full circle.</p>
<p>“He’s gotta be the world’s worst patient, you know,” Atsumu says flatly, crossing his arms. “Wouldn’t stop running around even after our trainer told him to stay put.”</p>
<p>Bokuto gasps in mock offense, and Akaashi tries not to laugh. </p>
<p>“I know,” Akaashi says, which earns him another gasp and wide-eyed surprise from Bokuto. Akaashi smiles serenely at him. “Ready to go home?”</p>
<p>At that, Bokuto’s expression visibly brightens, and Akaashi thinks, not for the first time, how like a storm Bokuto is, fervent and overwhelming and unpredictable, but Akaashi’s always had a knack for figuring out his weather patterns. </p>
<p>“Okay,” Bokuto agrees easily and then turns to wave to Atsumu. “Bye Tsum-Tsum! You better not lose without me this weekend!”</p>
<p>Atsumu rolls his eyes and waves him off. “Right, like you’re the only good player on our team,” he says, unimpressed, as he turns to head back inside. </p>
<p>Bokuto laughs again, bright and cheerful despite the prospect of not playing volleyball for the next week, but he lets Akaashi help him home, bracing some of his weight so not all of it will land on his bad ankle. It takes them a bit longer than usual to make the trip home, and Bokuto pouts in earnest when Akaashi tells him that no, they can’t go out for dinner because Bokuto needs to rest and Akaashi wants to take a look at the injury besides. Bokuto eventually relents and agrees after Akaashi promises to get takeout from Bokuto’s favorite restaurant a few blocks away from their apartment, but it’s a close call. </p>
<p>When they get home, Akaashi makes Bokuto sit on the couch and goes to get some ice and athletic tape. Earlier complaining notwithstanding, Bokuto dutifully props his leg up on Akaashi’s lap when Akaashi sits down beside him and he lets Akaashi gently nudge Bokuto’s foot this way and that. Akaashi watches Bokuto carefully, narrowing his eyes a little when a particular movement makes Bokuto wince, and then lets out a small sigh and starts re-taping his ankle, stripping away the tape his team’s trainer patched him up with during practice where it’s gotten scrunched up and loose from all of Bokuto’s unending movement. </p>
<p>“I always forget,” Bokuto says, watching Akaashi intently, quiet and still for once, a temporary holding pattern as Akaashi works. “You’re really good at this, Akaashi.” </p>
<p>Akaashi hums softly. “Well, when you have a mother who’s both a doctor and a worrier,” he says, a little absently, trying to make sure he binds up Bokuto’s foot tightly enough, “You learn a thing or two.”</p>
<p>Bokuto smiles and leans an elbow on the back of the couch, resting his chin in his palm. Akaashi works carefully and methodically, and he’s glad to find that Bokuto’s ankle doesn’t look too swollen, at least. If he’s good about it, Akaashi thinks he probably will end up being alright to play again in a week’s time. When Akaashi’s done, he drops the athletic tape down on the coffee table and picks up the ice pack instead, pressing it down against Bokuto’s skin. Bokuto jumps a little at the cold but doesn’t push him away. </p>
<p>“What happened?” Akaashi asks finally, quietly, leaning back and settling into the couch a little as he holds the ice in place. </p>
<p>Bokuto shrugs. “Slipped,” he says simply, and Akaashi suspects that there’s probably a little more to it than that, but it’s about the long and the short of it, so he lets it go. </p>
<p>“How careless,” Akaashi says instead, voice light, almost joking, because for as much as he fears that Bokuto’s persistent, unrelenting need to practice for hours on end will one day lead to the kind of injury he can’t come back from, this isn’t the first time Bokuto’s sprained an ankle or pulled something or come home with bruises on his arms, and Bokuto’s always taken it in stride, easy like everything else. Akaashi sometimes wonders what life will be like for Bokuto, after, because playing volleyball isn’t a thing that you can do forever. Akaashi’s never known Bokuto without volleyball, and when he tries to picture it, he always comes up short. But then something like this will happen, Bokuto will get sick or injured, and it never quite bothers him as much as Akaashi expects, as much as Akaashi thinks it would bother him if he were the one in Bokuto’s shoes. Bokuto smiles and laughs like it’s okay, like it’s not a big deal to have to take the time off from what Akaashi knows is his favorite thing in the whole world. Akaashi’s always wondered a little where it comes from, wonders how you become the kind of person who can live so freely.</p>
<p>Bokuto grins, blinding like the late afternoon sun streaming in through their open windows. His skin is cast in a warm wash of color, making him look a little like he’s glowing, and Akaashi feels his breath catch in his throat. </p>
<p>“Maybe I just wanted an excuse for you to take care of me,” Bokuto says, playful.</p>
<p>Akaashi shakes his head, but he knows his expression probably looks about three shades too amused and fond. </p>
<p>“There are easier ways to do that, you know,” Akaashi says, humoring him. </p>
<p>Bokuto frowns at him. “Akaashi,” he says, and he makes it sound like a joke, but there’s probably a little part of him that’s dead serious. “When have you ever known me to take the easy way out?”</p>
<p>Akaashi laughs and pats Bokuto’s knee. “Maybe consider it,” he says gently, “Just this once.”</p>
<p>Bokuto looks at Akaashi for a long moment, and then his expression shifts into something soft and loving. He scoots a little closer to take Akaashi’s face in his hands, running the pads of his thumbs along the curve of Akaashi’s cheekbones. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry to make you worry,” Bokuto murmurs into the space between them. </p>
<p>Akaashi smiles and leans into Bokuto’s touch. After a moment’s thought, he says, “I’m not worried.”</p>
<p>And as soon as Akaashi says it, he knows that it’s the truth, that the idle thoughts and <i>what if’s</i> are just that, hypotheticals, imagined versions of a future that might never come. Akaashi knows that Bokuto doesn’t live his life in realities that don’t exist. It’s a little like he doesn’t know the meaning of impossible, like whatever he decides that he wants, he can manufacture the wherewithal to make it happen. Bokuto lives without regrets because he lives in the moment, lives trying to make every minute the most fun that he possibly can, and when it’s all over, Akaashi thinks, maybe it won’t turn out to be such a shock after all. Even if Akaashi sometimes thinks otherwise. Even if Akaashi can’t quite wrap his head around how to be that kind of a person. He’s not worried because Bokuto believes in the doing of things above all else, and Akaashi believes in him, and one way or another, things will probably turn out to be okay, in the end.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>miya atsumu is one of those characters who I love but I've never written before so apologies if the beginning of this chapter feels a bit awkward I really just like. have no idea how to write him lmao but I think this one ends nicely so hopefully that makes up for it</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. rain.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>or: on the merit of unexpected detours</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i> and you’ll always love me won’t you?<br/>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/169453-and-you-ll-always-love-me-won-t-you-yes-and-the">yes.</a><br/>
and the rain won’t make any difference?<br/>
no. </i>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<p>When a sudden, heavy downpour cracks open the sky, instead of running to the nearest shelter, Bokuto tips his face up and lets his eyes fall shut and smiles. They’re out running errands in the sticky, summer heat, and there had been an idle notion at the back of Akaashi’s mind when they’d headed out that the weather looked a bit gloomy, but not enough to make him want to double back and spend the extra ten minutes going to grab an umbrella. The rain pours down around them, unexpected and uncontained and unending, soaking Akaashi’s clothes all the way through in an instant, waterlogging his shoes and the canvas bag he’s carrying their groceries with. Akaashi’s first instinct is to rush to find an awning to stand under for a bit in a probably hopeless attempt to stay just a little bit drier, but he doesn’t even make it a few steps before he realizes that Bokuto isn’t following him. When Akaashi turns, he finds Bokuto standing with his arms stretched out beside him, like he’s welcoming the sudden flood of precipitation, like he’s greeting an old friend. </p>
<p>Akaashi knows that Bokuto has always loved the rain, has lost count of how many times in high school Bokuto would run off at the end of practice during the rainy season to jump in puddles and try to catch raindrops on his tongue. Akaashi knows that Bokuto’s unending, undying love for the rain is why he almost never has an umbrella with him, why to this day he always comes home soaked to the bone at least once every few days during the wettest months of the year, why he always looks up at dark grey clouds with such hopefulness. Akaashi knows this and loves it about him, loves how much joy Bokuto finds in even the smallest things, and there’s a part of him that even thinks that this bout of rain is a welcome relief from the hot, humid air they’ve been wading through for days, a part of him that sometimes, in moments like this, wants to be able to see the world like Bokuto does. </p>
<p>“Bokuto,” Akaashi says, his voice almost drowned out by the drumming of fat droplets against the concrete beneath their feet, the buildings around them, the leaves of the trees lining the street. </p>
<p>Bokuto blinks his eyes open to look at Akaashi, and in the washed-out light, his eyes seem to glow just that much more, like he has his own personal sun trapped somewhere just beneath his skin. Bokuto’s smiling, wide and excited and he reaches over to take Akaashi’s hand in his own. </p>
<p>“Hey, Akaashi,” Bokuto says, voice hushed in excitement. “Let’s go on an adventure.”</p>
<p>Akaashi lets out a breath. “We’re drenched,” he says, trying to be reasonable even though Bokuto, out of everyone Akaashi has ever met, always makes him want to be careless and impulsive, just a little bit. “We’re going to get sick if we stay out here too long.”</p>
<p>Bokuto frowns, considering for a moment. “Well, we’re not going to get any more wet,” he reasons. “Might as well enjoy this, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>Bokuto’s face looks so expectant, so eager that Akaashi doesn’t really have it in him to say no, but he remembers last winter, when for weeks, Bokuto kept coming down with a cold that he couldn’t quite shake, not quite listening each time Akaashi told him to spend less time out in the stormy weather. </p>
<p>“Okay,” Akaashi says, and then adds quickly, before Bokuto can get ahead of himself, “But let’s at least head in the general direction of home.”</p>
<p>Bokuto positively beams at Akaashi, thrilled, and squeezes Akaashi’s hand. “Deal,” he says, and starts pulling Akaashi down the street. </p>
<p>Akaashi never quite knows what Bokuto means when he says things like <i>let’s go on an adventure</i>, because sometimes it leads to buying fresh mochi at a tiny shop by the train station and sometimes it leads to a hidden-away shrine that Akaashi never knew existed not five blocks from his university and once, memorably, to finding a litter of stray puppies and the two of them spending the better part of the next few days trying to find homes for all of them. But what he does know is that whenever he agrees, Bokuto looks at him with shining eyes, like Akaashi holds the entire universe in the palm of his hand, and Akaashi thinks well, what is love for if not to indulge in your partner’s whims every now and again. </p>
<p>Bokuto kicks at puddles as they walk along with a soft smile on his face, splashing droplets colored in bright neons from the flickering signs atop the buildings. His palm is warm against Akaashi’s, even now, with the chilling effect the rain brings with it, and Akaashi huddles in a little closer. Bokuto smiles and throws his arm across Akaashi’s shoulders, letting Akaashi lean into his side as they walk down the street, pressed hip to chest. Akaashi thinks that he sort of gets it, sometimes, Bokuto’s lifelong love affair with the rain, because even though Akaashi can feel little rivulets of water dripping down the back of his neck, even though his shoes squish uncomfortably with every step, there’s something peaceful about the way the world muffles in the rain, how the bustling city seems almost abandoned, in a way. </p>
<p>“Ooh!” Bokuto exclaims after a few minutes of comfortable silence. He bounces a little on his toes and grabs Akaashi’s hand again, pulling him along without pausing to explain. His hair is plastered to his neck as he runs on ahead of Akaashi, and even as he charges forward on a ground made slick by water, his grip on Akaashi’s hand is like an anchor, steadying, grounding. </p>
<p>Bokuto ends up taking them to a little park across the street and up the block, and when he lets go of Akaashi’s hand, it’s to scramble up a colorful children’s jungle gym, feet slipping a little on the slippery plastic surface. He turns to look down at Akaashi when he’s atop the dome-shaped structure, sitting with his feet hanging down off of the railing he’s perched on and holds his hand out as if to pull Akaashi up to him. </p>
<p>“Come on,” he says, and it’s such a little thing, but he makes it sound like the most exciting thing he’s done all week. </p>
<p>Akaashi sighs as he drops his bag to the ground. “Be careful,” he says. “You could hurt yourself.”</p>
<p>Bokuto shrugs and smiles gamely at him. “It’s not that high up,” he says, waving his hand for Akaashi to climb up too. </p>
<p>Akaashi shakes his head even as he steps up a couple rungs on the play structure, not quite getting as high up as Bokuto, but enough that his head is at the same height as Bokuto’s shoulder and he can rest his elbows on one of the railings near the top. Bokuto reaches to push Akaashi’s damp hair out of his face and leans in to catch his mouth in a kiss. Without thinking about it, instinctively, Akaashi ducks his chin a little, and Bokuto pauses, blinking at him with wide, questioning eyes. </p>
<p>“People will see,” Akaashi says by way of explanation. “You’re starting to get kind of famous in some circles, you know. Just the other day, I saw pictures of you on a run on Twitter.”</p>
<p>Bokuto’s eyebrows draw together like this is the first time he’s thought about that possibility, like fame and renown of that sort is just a side-effect of the things he really cares about. </p>
<p>“Are you embarrassed?” Bokuto asks, something odd and inscrutable falling over his face. It’s not a look that he gets often, and Akaashi finds his stomach twisting uncomfortably at the sight. </p>
<p>“I just like my privacy,” Akaashi says gently, and it’s the truth, really, because he can’t imagine a version of the world where he’d be embarrassed to be with Bokuto. But there’s a difference, he thinks, between that and wanting to keep things that are personal, well, personal. </p>
<p>Bokuto looks at him for a long moment, sharp eyes boring straight into Akaashi’s, like he’s considering something thoroughly, but then his expression softens and relaxes into something more tender and quiet. </p>
<p>“Look around,” Bokuto says, waving his arm around for emphasis. “Who’s here?”</p>
<p>Akaashi draws in a breath. The park they’re in is backed away from the wide street they were just on, bounded by a scattering of big trees and bushes. The steady rainfall around them creates a curtain of quiet, save for the white noise of precipitation, and it occurs to Akaashi that they haven’t seen another person in quite some time, everyone having run indoors for shelter the moment the skies opened up. Even the whir of cars passing has become less frequent. Akaashi looks around at the way that the buildings around them look a little hazy through the sheets of rain, everything muted and dulled, except for the tiny bubble just around them. It’s like they’re the only two people who exist in the whole world, and Akaashi feels his heart hammering in his chest. Bokuto smiles and it’s somehow the loudest thing in Akaashi’s whole universe. He leans in again to kiss Akaashi, and this time Akaashi tips himself up to meet Bokuto halfway, thinking that yeah, okay, maybe there is something to be said for the magic of this kind of day, after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*whew* finally I'm caught up and finally I've written something I'm actually mostly satisfied with I'm Thrilled !</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. cooking.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>or: how to love on lazy mornings</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table,<br/>
while we are laughing and crying,<br/>
eating of the last <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49622/perhaps-the-world-ends-here">sweet</a> bite.</i>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<p>Akaashi wakes up on a Saturday morning to the smell of pancakes and fresh coffee. The light peeking in through the edges of the curtains is bright white, announcing that it’s late morning already, and Akaashi feels loose and cozy as he stretches and sits up in bed. Across the room, the bedroom door is cracked open just a touch, and he can hear the sound of Bokuto humming quietly to himself in the kitchen. The blankets are bunched up at the foot of the bed from where Akaashi’s kicked them in his sleep, fitful in the hot weather of late summer, and Akaashi can feel how wild his hair must look, remembers falling asleep on damp hair after a late night out catching up with the guys from the old team. The day has the distinct feeling of being one of those days where it feels okay to do nothing, where the minutes seem to stretch on, lazy and languid, like the whole world is stopping to catch its breath. </p>
<p>In the kitchen, when Akaashi ventures out some minutes later—feet shoved carelessly into ridiculous, fluffy slippers that look like owls that Bokuto saw once when he’d been away on a trip with his team and bought because they reminded him of the two of them—he finds Bokuto by the stove, twirling a spatula in his hands as he watches the pan in front of him intently. Bokuto has a matching pair of slippers himself, though more often than not, at least one of the slippers has been mysteriously misplaced, only to be found some days later under their couch or behind a bookshelf or buried beneath a mountain of Akaashi’s schoolwork. One of them must be missing now, because Bokuto’s tapping bare feet against the tiled floor of their kitchen, drumming out a beat to whatever song he’s got stuck in his head today, and the set of his shoulders looks relaxed and easy. Akaashi smiles. Saturdays, he thinks, will always be something a little special. </p>
<p>Akaashi wanders over and wraps hid arms around Bokuto’s waist, letting his head fall between Bokuto’s shoulder blades, and he feels more than hears Bokuto’s laugh, a soft rumble through his chest. </p>
<p>“Good morning,” Bokuto says in the bright, cheerful tone of someone who’s already been awake for several hours. </p>
<p>Akaashi just hums in response. </p>
<p>“I made coffee, if you want it,” Bokuto adds, nudging the pan in front of him slightly. </p>
<p>There are very few things that will get Akaashi’s attention when he’s just woken up, but Bokuto knows them all by heart by this point. Akaashi pours himself a generous mug full and then goes to hoist himself up onto the kitchen counter, kicking his feet out a little to nudge Bokuto’s thigh. Bokuto smiles as he flips a pancake. Bokuto’s hair is getting a little long these days, and he’s got it pulled up into a sort of messy half ponytail, some strands that are too short to reach falling down around his ears. Bokuto doesn’t really let his hair get like this often, mostly because he says it’s a pain to deal with once it’s reached this point, but there’s a part of Akaashi that really loves it. It makes him look softer around the edges, less like Bokuto Koutarou, star outside hitter of the MSBY Black Jackals, but just Bokuto, the boy Akaashi fell in love with at fifteen years old, who likes rainbow sprinkles with his ice cream and can never manage to stay up past midnight as much as he tries and insists on rewatching <i>Wall-E</i> at least once a year knowing that he’ll cry every time. It makes him look realer, somehow. </p>
<p>Bokuto slides a pancake onto a plate and pushes it towards Akaashi. “Here,” he says, “They’re best when they’re hot.”</p>
<p>The pancakes Bokuto is making have little chocolate chips in them, scattered in fun patterns, this one a smiley face, the one he’s pouring out into the pan a heart. The chocolate melts over Akaashi’s fingers as he pulls off a piece and pops it in his mouth, sighing contently at the rich, sweet flavor. </p>
<p>“How come your pancakes always turn out so much better than mine?” Akaashi asks, licking some chocolate off of his thumb. “Mine always taste like shit.”</p>
<p>Bokuto waves the spatula in Akaashi’a direction, free hand on his hip. “You want it too badly,” he says very seriously. “Pancakes can sense your fear, you know.”</p>
<p>Akaashi rolls his eyes but he can’t quite stop a laugh from slipping out, reaching out to tuck a lock of hair back behind Bokuto’s ear. Bokuto smiles as he turns back to cooking. </p>
<p>“I think I’m going to get a haircut soon,” Bokuto says a little absently, tapping idly on the edge of the pan with the spatula. </p>
<p>Akaashi hums, taking a sip of his coffee. “Oh?” he says, taking another bite of the pancake Bokuto’s set out for him. “This look kind of suits you.”</p>
<p>Bokuto looks up at Akaashi, a wide smile spreading to his face as he steps into the space between his legs to lean in towards him. “Aw, Akaashi,” Bokuto says, voice playful and teasing. “You think I’m handsome?”</p>
<p>Akaashi tries to set his mouth into a stern line, but he’s sure his eyes give him away. “I said it suits you,” he says, brushing back Bokuto’s hair again.  </p>
<p>Bokuto laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he’s so close that Akaashi can see the little flecks of gold in his irises. Akaashi kisses him, draping an arm over Bokuto’s shoulders to pull him a little closer, because he can, because Bokuto’s looking at him so expectantly. Bokuto’s free hand comes up to creep around Akaashi’s waist, slipping under the hem of his t-shirt, and Akaashi lets his hand tangle in Bokuto’s hair. </p>
<p>Bokuto scrunches up his nose when he pulls away. “You taste like coffee.”</p>
<p>Akaashi smiles and shakes his head. “You’re the one who keeps making it for me every morning,” he says. </p>
<p>Bokuto heaves an overwrought, dramatic sigh. “The things I do for you,” he sniffs. “You’re so lucky to have me.”</p>
<p>Akaashi laughs softly, an odd feeling fluttering behind his ribcage. It almost aches a little, but it’s a good ache, mostly. Bokuto means it as a joke, Akaashi knows, but there are times when Akaashi looks up and thinks <i>god, I really am</i>. There are a thousand ways falling head over heels for someone who shines as brightly as Bokuto does could have gone, and in all of those possible versions of the world, Akaashi thinks that he probably somehow managed to find himself in one of the best. Bokuto loves him, loves him without fear or reservation, so much that it hurts sometimes. Akaashi feels like he’s been a little spoiled, being entrusted with such an unending, unrelenting kind of love, but he thinks to himself that he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the entire universe. Everything else could go wrong, but as long as Akaashi has this, this promise of forever, he thinks that he’ll probably turn out okay. </p>
<p>“Bokuto,” Akaashi says quietly. </p>
<p>Bokuto gazes up at Akaashi, warm and tender. “Hmm?”</p>
<p>“Food’s burning,” Akaashi says. </p>
<p>Bokuto’s eyes grow wide and he yelps in surprise, hurriedly turning back to his pan to try to salvage the blackened pancake, but it’s probably a lost cause. Akaashi smiles into his coffee and steals a couple of the chocolate chips Bokuto’s set aside for the pancakes, and laughs when Bokuto gasps and tries to smack his hand away, saying something about having carefully measured out the number of chocolate chips he’d need beforehand and Akaashi messing up his perfect plan. But then Bokuto grins when Akaashi hooks his ankle around the back of Bokuto’s thigh to pull him closer again and he kisses Akaashi, soft and easy, and Akaashi thanks all his lucky stars that he gets to have a love like this.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>why is there smth so intimate about cooking for ur s/o....... I go feral every time</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. free day.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>or: pitstops on the way to forever</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i> kiss the mouth<br/>
that tells you, here,<br/>
here is the <a href="https://psa.fcny.org/psa/awards/frost_and_shelley/frost_winners/2002/">world</a>.<br/>
This mouth. This laughter. These temple bones.</i>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<p>In the end, Akaashi thinks, the world is probably a lot less scary of a place than the worst parts of him ever really make it out to be. Not that it makes his hands any easier to still when there’s too much restless energy trapped beneath his skin. Not that it makes his anxious heart stop rabbiting in his chest when he thinks about all the big unknowns and uncertainties forever looming before him. Not that it makes him trip any less over his own tongue trying to get the words he means the most out from the back of his throat. But it makes it feel okay, somehow, to feel it. </p>
<p>Because it’s like this: </p>
<p>Akaashi gets to wake up every morning in a small but cozy apartment he shares with a boy he loves more than he ever imagined possible. He wakes up to wander into a kitchen where coffee is waiting for him, where he finds little post-its stuck on the fridge with scrawled notes wishing him a good day next to reminders to buy eggs and Bokuto’s game schedule for the season, where on days off from early practice, Bokuto greets him with a wide grin and a bone-crushing hug and sometimes, if Akaashi is lucky, breakfast. He wakes up every morning feeling happy and whole.</p>
<p>Because it’s like this:</p>
<p>Akaashi comes home after class or his part-time job or long study sessions at the library every day to a home where only good memories live, memories of decorating the whole apartment with string lights for birthdays and holidays, of standing out on the balcony bundled up in layers of blankets to watch the first snow of winter fall over the city, of staying up late baking cookies on a whim because Bokuto saw an ad on TV and got a craving. He comes home and sees their wobbly coffee table they still haven’t replaced and two pairs of owl shaped slippers sitting side by side by the door and stacks of his own books piled up next to spare kneepads and the latest issue of <i>Volleyball Monthly</i> and a stray volleyball, and he thinks that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. </p>
<p>Because it’s like this:</p>
<p>When Akaashi goes away on a trip for one of his classes for a handful of days, Bokuto comes to the train station to meet him the day he arrives back. Bokuto comes running through the station, weaving his way through the dense crowd of people to tackle Akaashi in a tight hug, ecstatic and impatient. </p>
<p>“Akaashi!” Bokuto cheers, and Akaashi’s thought for some time now that his name always has a special ring to it when it comes from Bokuto. Bokuto buries his face in Akaashi’s shoulder and asks, “Did you miss me?”</p>
<p>Bokuto asks things like that a lot—<i>did you miss me</i> or <i>did you see that</i> or <i>wasn’t that amazing</i>—but there’s something different about the way he asks this now. His voice comes out almost small and uncertain, and Akaashi’s reminded that for all of Bokuto’s confidence and bravado, there have always been things that need to be spoken to feel real. </p>
<p>“Yes,” Akaashi says, wrapping his arms around Bokuto’s waist, the words spoken like a promise, like an oath. “Yes, of course.”</p>
<p>The smile that Bokuto gives him when he pulls back from the hug is almost blinding. </p>
<p>“You ready to go home?” Bokuto asks, slipping his hand into Akaashi’s and reaching to help him with his bags. </p>
<p>There have been some people over the years who’ve told Akaashi that it’s maybe silly, the way he’s loved, that it’s almost unthinkable that he’s been in love with the same boy since he started high school. They say that he’s too young to be so committed, that the world is so big and he’s fenced himself in, that he has no idea what he’s missing out on. They say it like it’d be easy to find someone else to share a love like this with, like this is all just incidental, like it could’ve been anyone. And maybe they’re right. Maybe the world really is that big and he really is letting so much just pass him by. But if that’s the case, then Akaashi’s decided that he doesn’t care, because he looks at Bokuto and he feels warm and safe and content, feels settled and grounded like Bokuto’s an anchor tethering him to the earth when Akaashi’s worst anxious habits get the better of him. He looks at Bokuto, at his wild hair and shining eyes, the fearless steadfastness in the set of his shoulders, and knows that this could never be something he could just let go of so easily. And yes, he’s young, and yes, it’s maybe silly, but he spends so much of his life trying to get things to make sense, trying to find the logic in the way the world works, and this is the one thing he’s never felt unsure of. He loves Bokuto, loves him so much he aches all the way down to his bones sometimes. Why would he give all that up for a <i>what if</i>?  </p>
<p>Akaashi smiles. “Let’s go home,” he says, and home right now is their tiny apartment with its big living room windows and narrow kitchen, but Akaashi thinks that it wouldn’t be difficult, making another, if and when they have to.</p>
<p>Bokuto smiles as they walk from the train station in the direction of home, chattering on about what’s been going on in Akaashi’s absence, about scoring match point at a practice match earlier in the week, about getting dinner with Komi and Konoha, about seeing a puppy up for adoption the other day that he almost brought home because it was just so cute. He laughs when Akaashi jokes about moving out if he ever brings home a pet without talking about it first and bumps his shoulder into Akaashi’s as he wonders aloud what they should have for dinner. Would it be better, he asks, to try that new ramen shop that opened up down the block or one of their favorite restaurants a little further out? Is it worth risking what they know will be a good meal for something unknown and uncertain? Akaashi smiles as Bokuto weighs the pros and cons, the familiar cadence of his voice settling in Akaashi’s chest like a salve. Akaashi thinks sometimes that he could go away for years and years, get used to the absence of Bokuto in his life, and still he’d come back thinking that this is where he belongs, that there’s no other place that would feel so much like home. And maybe that’s just it, that this right here has always felt like where his whole world begins and ends, Bokuto smiling from ear to ear at Akaashi, skin glowing in the late evening light, his hand clasped around Akaashi’s like he’d never let go if he didn’t have to. </p>
<p>“Let’s try somewhere new,” Akaashi says. </p>
<p>Bokuto turns his bright eyes on Akaashi and squeezes his hand. “Okay,” he agrees easily, and the way his expression brightens like he’d agree to anything Akaashi asked just to see Akaashi smile makes Akaashi’s chest swell. What an incredible responsibility, he thinks, to hold someone’s heart in the palm of your hand. </p>
<p>They drop off Akaashi’s things at their apartment and head out to try out the new ramen shop, and Akaashi thinks to himself that whatever happens, in this and everything else, there’s really never been that much risk after all, that whatever happens, he’d never regret anything if it meant getting to share just one more meal with Bokuto, one more adventure, one more fond memory to reflect back on years later. </p>
<p>“What do you think, Akaashi?” Bokuto says, bouncing on his toes a little. “Do you think it’s gonna be worth it?”</p>
<p>Akaashi looks at Bokuto, at this boy who’s kind and passionate and so incredibly loving, who chose him and continues to choose him every day, and he smiles, feeling a kind of lightness seep into his bones. </p>
<p>“Yes,” Akaashi says quietly. “Yes, always.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>just something simple and think-y and sweet to close us out, brought to u by things u hear when ur still dating ur hs sweetheart ✌🏼</p>
<p>thank you so very much to everyone who's been reading along during bkak week! this is more and more quickly than I've written in a long, long time, and even though I'm still not entirely satisfied with all the ficlets, this has been a really fun challenge for myself since I'm usually such a slow writer. I'll be editing this whole thing and catching what I'm sure are a significant number of mistakes in the coming week, so check back in a bit for an updated and improved version!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>as always, thank you so very much for reading! comments/kudos are appreciated!</p><p>come find me on <a href="http://youichi-kuramochi.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> or <a href="https://twitter.com/kura_ryous">twitter</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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